


Choking on My Thoughts of You

by Random_Inked_Thoughts



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, Lots of Angst, M/M, Pining, Sad Phil Lester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 10:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17599466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Inked_Thoughts/pseuds/Random_Inked_Thoughts
Summary: ---The first time Phil coughed up a petal, he thought he was seeing things. He blinked, staring at its perfect edges, almost as if to will it out of existence. There was no way something so small and perfect could have come from his lungs. That couldn’t be possible. Yet there it sat, perfect and white as can be, cupped in his hands. ---Phil loved Dan so much it was killing him.





	Choking on My Thoughts of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pulpphiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulpphiction/gifts).



> This is my half of a collaboration (one of two at the moment) with the lovely Pulpphiction! Be sure to go and check her out after this if you want to see the outright amazing work she's done in the past, as well as her artwork for this story when she posts it!

The first time Phil coughed up a petal, he thought he was seeing things. He blinked, staring at its perfect edges, almost as if to will it out of existence. There was no way something so small and perfect could have come from his lungs. That couldn’t be possible. Yet there it sat, perfect and white as can be, cupped in his hands.

 

Dan’s train pulled away from the station, leaving Manchester. Phil could almost swear he still felt Dan’s lingering warmth on his wrist, the brief caress even as he boarded the train, leaving Phil with nothing more than memories of soft smiles and shared moments.

  
Then, a sudden gust of wind and the petal fluttered from his hand, twirling and whirling away until it was lost in the crowd. Phil walked home, a painful aching in his chest that he couldn’t quite understand.

 

By the time he made it back home it was dark. Even as sat down at his desk, and opened his computer’s search bar, Phil began to feel stupid. _This can’t be real,_ he thought, yet he typed it in anyway. _I must be imagining things._

 

Sure enough, the only “reasonable” explanation for a legitimate flower petal coming from his body couldn’t happen to him. This was real life, and the only things the internet suggested could only occur in fantasy. _Hanahaki? Flowers and death? This definitely can’t be real._ Phil shrugged and closed his computer, heading to his bed. _Unless maybe they grew in your stomach like adults used to say watermelon would if you ate the seeds,_ he thought, chuckling to himself. 

 

He drifted to sleep with thoughts of Dan on his mind and a strange tingling in the back of his throat that he chalked up to nothing more than pollen lingering in the air, despite it being mid-October. _Besides, I’m pretty sure we saw some pretty white flowers on the way to the station, I must have just gotten a petal stuck on my sweatshirt._

 

\-----

 

The Skype calls continued, later and later into each night as Dan grew more confidant, flirting unabashedly with Phil even as he himself flirted back. His butterflies, returned with each glance back to Dan’s face, and seeing Dan’s smile was enough to cause him to blush.

 

With the way things were going, Phil making the move to ask Dan to move house with him was expected, if not almost, in a way, demanded. And so the two of them moved, and now Skype calls aren't necessary, and their days were filed with that unabashed flirting, and Phil’s throat tingles more with each passing moment around Dan.

 

They begin to share a bed, and even if nothing more happens between them than spooning and enjoying each other’s warmth, Phil can almost feel the seemingly natural progression, where this is leading. He tries to work up the courage to ask Dan if he wants to be his, to truly ask the question burning in the back of his throat.

 

And so he does it the only way he knows how. He makes Dan a video.

 

\-----

 

But nothing lasts forever, no situation can stay perfect, frozen in an ideal time, and Youtube’s mistake is the reason they are now screaming at one another, the reason Phil learns to write off his feelings for Dan as a joke, and the reason that they now sleep as far apart from one another as Dan can manage, his posture closed off and his back to Phil.

 

Phil addresses the fans calmly, begging them to understand that it was just a harmless prank. He even tells Dan this, more desperate that he believe him than anyone else. He’s beside himself with guilt, worry, and most importantly, sorrow. His heart screams for his brown haired counterpart, at this age nothing more than an insecure child who is afraid of the unknown, pushing it away.

 

This brings on the worst part of this whole situation. Phil goes to head to bed, but the door is closed, and his pillow is left outside the room, looking cold and alone in the hallway. Phil takes it wordlessly back to his room, feeling numb.

 

The moment he’s inside, he breaks down, sinking to the floor as hot tears plunge down his cheeks. The coughing starts low, barely a rumble in the back of his throat, and the tingly sensation from so long ago is back.

 

Nothing happens. Phil can feel his throat trying to spit something out, he can feel whatever it is inside of him, but nothing happens. He goes to sleep with his heart heavy, clutching his pillow to his chest and taking in his last bit of _Dan._

 

The more Dan seems to distance himself from Phil, the closer Phil needs him to be. His coughing fits get worse, even as he and Dan fight, scream, storm away from one another in their own home.   
  
And then it happens again.

 

“No Phil, I won’t sit with you.”

 

“Come on Dan, the fans want you to drop in. Five minutes.” Phil is sitting there, pleading, and he _knows_ that this is awkward but he’s putting his foot down because he’s not really _that_ repulsive to Dan, right? Dan would listen to him if he really saw how important this was to him… right?

 

“Phil.” Dan’s tone is warning, harsh and unyielding. “I said, _drop it._ ” He snarls out the last words, stalking from the room as he does, almost as if to prove a point, and Phil feels his eyes fill with tears as he wishes the chat a good night. As soon as the camera is off, he doubles over, another coughing fit overtaking him even as he sits there.

 

This time, the tingly sensation is accompanied by the feeling of his gag reflex kicking in. And then he’s spitting them out in clumps, mangled, white petals. They keep forcing their way out of his throat, and Phil feels more tears, reflexive tears, as he hacks up more and more petals. They are small and thin and dripping with mucus and blood. With them coming up and out of him, all over their sofa, Phil thought back to all those years ago, when he and Dan were still young and flirty, when he thought he might have had a chance.

 

And so Phil sat there, surrounded by piles of crumpled white, and cried.

 

\-----

 

Internet research did almost nothing to help him. He was so wracked with coughing fits these days that even Dan, in his angered state, did seem concerned about him. He researched the same thing he had back in 2009, and got the same results.

  
So he moved on. He found out what kind of flower was killing him slowly. He was coughing up what appeared to be chrysanthemums. Apparently, these flowers represented fidelity, joy, and _long life_.  Phil chuckled dryly at that, weak and raspy, and it quickly dissolved into another coughing fit. He didn’t cough up any flowers this time, though his throat burned.

 

There was a knock on his door frame, and Phil turned to see Dan in his open doorway, looking concerned and a little bit guilty. He held a steaming cup of tea in his hands, which he moved slowly to set on Phil’s desk.

 

“For your cough,” he said by way of greeting, wringing his hands, a telltale sign of his nervousness. A peace offering.

 

Phil smiled, despite the flowers burning his throat, accepting the slice of normal without a second thought. “Thank you.”

 

Dan gave him a tentative smile back before fleeing.

 

\-----

 

The next day, Phil awoke to similar violent coughs shaking his whole body, and he barely had time to grab his trashcan before he was dry heaving into it, dry heaving that was suddenly mixed with white flowers and blood.

 

There was sudden knocking at his door, accompanied by a frantic, “Phil?”

 

Phil groaned, wiping his mouth as he went to answer Dan. He pulled the door open sleepily, head pounding.

 

Dan took one look at him and pursed his lips. “You look like hell. We’re going to hospital.”

 

——-

 

And that was how, despite Phil’s protests, they made their way to the doctor’s office. If Phil leaned a little too long against Dan’s warm side, he would have blamed it on his uncontrollable shaking and coughing, and if Dan noticed, he would have accepted that explanation as the truth, as he wouldn’t have wanted to tolerate even the thought of any other explanation.

 

The waiting was tense, and riddled with Phil’s shaky breathing and Dan’s nervous hand creeping up his flatmate’s back with each cough. Phil doubled over as the woman called his name, his hand coming away bloody. Quickly, he shoved it into his pocket, giving Dan a weak smile before following the nurse back into the room.

 

The doctor was waiting for him inside. Phil swallowed, nervous. His throat burned as it contracted.

 

His doctor stood in the room, a small smile of greeting on his face as they shook hands briefly. “Mr. Lester, please, sit. What seems to be the problem?” His doctor asked him.

 

Phil opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a single word out about his situation, about how he’s been throwing up petals and blood for months, about how it all started when he found himself with a hopeless crush on a boy he’d just met, about how said boy now hated him because he’d messed up big time, and possibly fractured their relationship forever, he could feel his airway close off.

 

His blue eyes widened with shock as his hands flew up to his throat, hesitating, loosely wrapped around it, unsure of whether this would help or hinder him. He only had a few moments to contemplate, unable to breathe and tearing up, before he convulsed, bending over at the waist and vomiting up a full chrysanthemum, its white petals dripping with blood covered mucus. He could feel his throat screaming at him as he spit it out, but all he felt was numb even as he picked a spare petal from between his lips. “Oh god,” he rasped out. “Oh no.”

 

His doctor did not seem surprised, rather, he seemed saddened. “White…” He murmured. “Phillip, do you know what white chrysanthemums represent?”

 

Phil shook his head, letting out another small cough. He didn’t think he could breathe right now, let alone speak.

 

“White chrysanthemums represent both truth and loyal love, Phillip. I have not encountered many patients before with Hanahaki, though those with chrysanthemums always suffer the longest before…” he trailed off, a small frown gracing his features. “When did you encounter your first symptoms of Hanahaki, Phillip?’

 

Phil cleared his throat with difficulty. “We first met in 2009,” He recalled. “He had just left Manchester, and I coughed up a single petal.”

 

His doctor looked impressed, if nothing else.

 

“But that was it, for a long while. It’s only now that-” Phil’s voice broke as he let out another weak, broken sounding cough. “Only now that any symptoms are returning.”

 

The doctor nodded, though it seemed more reflexive than understanding. “It is due to the nature of the disease. Hanahaki is nothing more than a virus preying on the weak and helpless, something to be exterminated if only we could. This particular _breed_ takes especially long to kill, shown by the unusual period in which few to no symptoms appear, as well as the sudden leap to the final phase of the disease. This is usually triggered by extreme stress, or something relating to the person the infected is infatuated with. Another telltale sign of this strand of Hanahaki is the flowers themselves. Phillip, I’m not trying to frighten you, but if untreated, you will go through the final stage of the disease multiple times, for months at least, maybe even years, and then you will die.”

 

Phil could feel his throat close up from fear. “How do I treat it?” He whispered.

 

His doctor offered him a cough drop. “There are only two known ways to treat Hanahaki,” he said. “One of them is for your preferred partner to return your feelings.”

 

Phil let the back of his head hit the wall, groaning.

 

He got a sympathetic smile for that. “But judging by your reaction, Mr. Howell out there has made something very clear to you.” Phil’s eyes shot open and he jerked his head to look at his doctor, who simply laughed and held up his hands, almost as if he were surrendering. “Just an educated guess, Phillip, correct me if I’m wrong.” When Phil said nothing, he continued. “The other option is a surgery instituting the complete and total eradication of the flowers from your body.”

 

Phil finally let himself smile. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

 

“There is a catch-” His doctor had barely gotten the words out before Phil had deflated completely.

 

“There’s always a catch. Tell me.” Phil sighed. Then, “Please?”

 

“Just...read this over and come back in a week or two, let me know what you’ve decided.” His doctor handed him a small pamphlet, the words _Hanahaki Surgery_ in simple black font across the front. “Remember, this is all completely your choice.”

 

Phil opened the pamphlet, and began to read.

 

\-----

 

The one seemingly beneficial thing that came out of Phil’s new “undiagnosed medical condition” was Dan’s treatment of him. It was like a light switch. The younger barely left his side, always there with more cough drops, or steaming tea, or just sat next to him talking endlessly about his day. Their dynamic was back, and that was something Phil was so miraculously grateful for, he didn’t even want to touch on his first treatment option with a thirty foot pole.

 

It wasn’t until they were sat together, thigh to thigh, playing Mario Kart for the gaming channel, when it really sunk in for Phil that he would have to make a decision.

 

He had just thrown a red shell, perfectly nailing Dan’s Mii on their final lap, and he let out a little victory whoop, despite the burning in his throat and small, raspy cough that accompanied most sounds he made these days.

 

“Oh, _come on,_ Phil, you’re killing me here!” Dan chuckled out, more good naturally than usually, and Phil turned to look at him, something akin to dread on his face.

 

_No Dan, you’re killing me._

 

He took in Dan’s profile, his warm brown eyes and a fringe that he absolutely refused to go more than a day without straightening, no matter how much Phil promised him it looked better curly anyway. His soft, pink lips, stretched into a smile and making his dimple pop in a way that it seemed only Phil knew how to make happen.  

 

It was in that very moment that he found his decision as well.

 

A week later and Phil was stood in front of his doctor again. “Well, hello there Phillip,” He said, with a smile that almost radiated sadness. “Have you come to a decision then?”

 

“I can’t do it, I can’t forget everything I feel for him. I can’t leave him like that, I just won’t do it!” Phil blurted it all out, shaking his head back and forth and running his fingers through his own fringe.

 

“Woah, hey now Phillip, no one is forcing you to do anything,” his doctor reassured him.

 

Phil slumped against the wall, head in his hands. “I’m sorry…”

 

He just got a solemn look. “This will kill you, Phillip.”

 

\-----

It was 2016 and Phil called Dan up to accept his BONCA award with him, just because he could. It wasn’t until later that night, however, when Phil sat in his room, music on in the background in case Dan walked by his room to check on him, hacking up white chrysanthemums for the first time in a year, and he felt miserable. Pinof 8 was some of the most effortless, enjoyable banter Phil had ever had with Dan, so of course this was the time the flowers chose to accompany his cough.

 

There was a pattern to it, the flowers. They would come if Dan was too distant, they would come if he was too close. His doctor was confused by the way his disease was functioning, but he was nowhere near as confused as Phil.  It would seemingly disappear for months at a time, but come next October he would be hacking up full flowers again.

 

Phil felt all the air in his lungs leave in one breath as he threw up one last perfect chrysanthemum. His lungs constricted painfully and his chest heaved. Everything felt too tight around him, even the air he was breathing in. The music was too loud, his shirt was too tight, and the flower in his hand was being slowly constricted, his own dull fingernails digging into his palms as flowers dug into his ribs.

 

There was more knocking on his door, harsh and loud enough that Phil could hear it over the music. _I hope that he didn’t hear me coughing,_ his brain thought, offhand, near delusional from pain and asphyxiation.

 

“Phil? Phil!” Dan was positively yelling at this point, struggling to be heard over the music.

 

_Show me your love, your love_

_Gimme more but it's not enough_

_Show me your love, your love_

_Before the world catches up_

 

“Yeah, come in,” Phil calls out, voice catching as his eyes prickle with hot tears and his throat burns. He quickly throws his duvet over the majority of the incriminating flowers, including the one he nearly shredded in his hand. He wants to wince at the thought of having to wash the blood out later, but settles instead for wiping his hand off and turning down the music slightly.

  
Dan bursts through the door, brown eyes widening with what looks almost like guilt as he takes in the image of Phil lying, sniffling back tears on his folded duvet.

 

“Oh,” He says softly, leaving it at that, and coming over to sit next to Phil, missing the slight _crunch_ of flowers underneath him as he pulls Phil’s head into his lap. Phil closes his eyes as Dan begins running his fingers through his hair, pulling a little at the soft strands. “One of those days, huh?”

 

He can’t bring himself to respond to Dan, so he just nods a little, letting the tears slide from his eyes. He doesn’t miss the way Dan bites his lip and his other hand swipes the tears from just below his eyes, though his heart screams from the guilt of lying to Dan, lying about some mysterious illness that makes him like this, makes him cough day and night and then not at all.

 

_'Cause there's always time for second guesses, I don't wanna know_

_If you're gonna be the death of me, that's how I wanna go_

 

The music continues playing softly as they sat there together, Dan’s heart full of pity and Phil’s full of flowers.

 

\-----

 

It was 2018 and now Phil sat nervously next to Dan, his knee bouncing up and down nervously as they waited for the makeup crew to finish with their faces before they went out there. Phil’s cough was especially good today, he felt barely more than a tingle in his throat. Dan had seemingly maintained the adequate distance from Phil, a distance that the flowers, more so than Phil, appreciated.

 

Next thing he knew, Dan’s hand was on Phil’s shoulder, and he stood next to him, grinning, a microphone on the side of his face, a sparkly jacket on his back. “Hey, mate, don’t worry,” Dan grinned at him, dimple popping. “Come on, we’ve got this.” And then he made a funny face, blowing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes.

 

And so Phil trailed after Dan, laughing and coughing a little bit on his way into their first live show in front of fans since TATINOF.

 

\-----

 

It was almost 2019 and Phil was so much more in love with Dan than he ever planned to be. He had fallen for the brown haired boy faster and harder than anyone else in his life, and he couldn’t even imagine the thought of him leaving. His stomach turned even as they filmed their last video on their gaming channel for the year, even as Daniel exclaimed in an over the top voice, “A gay wedding!”

 

It was 2019 now, and Phil loved every bit of Daniel more each day. He loved him from his stupid, adorable dimple to his frizzy, curly hair. He loved his self confidence and the new way that Dan carried himself, but most of all, he loved Dan for every emotion that he felt. He loved his highs and his lows, when Dan was passionately spitting fire over a subject to when he was sobbing uncontrollably into Phil’s shoulder. He loved how he treated children and animals, and he loved how Dan acted when he was around him, smiling uncontrollably and finishing his sentences like he could see the inside of Phil’s head.

 

He loved him even as he stole Dan’s cup to make tea in, posting it for Instagram to see later that day. He loved him as Dan came up to him after the fans finished freaking out, wrapping his arms around his waist and nuzzling his face into the back of his neck.

 

“Hey babe,” Dan murmured flirtatiously, looking up at him with those doe eyes, and Phil is thrown back into 2009, where Dan wasn’t afraid to flirt shamelessly with him. “I know you did that on purpose. I thought we had a deal about talking before antagonizing phangirls. What gives?”

 

Phil just chuckles, coughing a little as he does so, and turns to look Dan over again. And in that moment, something inside of him finally breaks, everything flooding through. “I love you.”

 

Dan blinks at that, and Phil’s heart seizes in his chest. “I think this is a little past our usual flirty banter, Phil.” His tone is cautious, his eyes seeming almost… hopeful, though that might just be Phil’s own hope reflected in Dan’s eyes.

 

He can’t do this anymore.

 

“But it’s true,” He manages to get out. “I’m in love with you and it’s killing me. I’ve been in love with you since 2009 when I was too young to really know for sure I was feeling that and you were too young to even understand love. I’ve been in love with you for years, choking on my words and hoping that you would say something, and choking on those _fucking_ chrysanthemums I keep hiding from you. I’m choking and I’m dying, Dan. I don’t know why I would want to tell you today of all days, it’s just that I don’t think I could live with you not knowing anymore.” His palms are up, and he’s desperately begging Dan to understand him. Faster than he can blink, he’s thrown back into 2012.

 

“Slow down.” Dan has backed away from him now, and is looking concerned. _No, please don’t!_ “Go back to the part where you’re cursing about chrysanthemums. Phil, _what’s going on?”_ Dan’s tone has descended completely into worry.

 

Phil begins to feel his eyes prick with tears at that. “The chrysanthemums, they’re inside of me. It’s Hanahaki, that stupid fictional disease isn’t actually fictional, it’s real and it’s so, stupidly, unbelievably real and I can’t stop it. It’s killing me, Dan. I love you entirely and every day that you don’t love me back it kills me a little more. I wanted to tell you but I wouldn’t be able to take it if… if you-” he chokes out a sob. “I couldn’t take it if you said maybe, maybe you didn’t want me too. I knew they would win, I knew the flowers would win.” He’s rambling now. “I didn’t want to lose you and-”

 

Dan grasped Phil’s wrists, pulling him sharply in for a kiss to shut him up. Their lips collided and their teeth clashed. It was so far from perfect, and it was messy and a little clumsy, but it was so unbelievably _them_. Phil felt the tears he’d been holding in run down his cheeks, even as Dan giggled into his mouth, pulling him closer.

 

And in that moment, Phil felt he could truly breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for all giving this a read! Please don't forget to check out the artwork that the lovely did for this work (when she posts it)!
> 
> Her tumblr/Instagram: pulpphiction  
> My tumblr: randomfandomginger
> 
> Comments/kudos make my day. <3


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